La Terrible Année
by Randomabiling
Summary: Every life, every love, goes through a terrible year. This is the story of how Lord and Lady Downton became Earl and Countess of Grantham
1. Chapter 1

November 1895

The chugging of the train, usually background noise that lulled Cora into a content sort of fugue, only churned up an anxious dread as they neared the York train station. The one bright spot, the one joyful anticipation, was seeing the girls again. She had missed her girls, painfully so, during the week they had been gone. Though it had been a relief to be away from Downton, a relief to be away from all the grief of the last two months, she couldn't fully escape the longing she felt when thinking of them. And think of them she did, always, even as Robert and the beauty of a London fall conspired to take her thoughts outside of herself. She had only begun to push off the shroud of mourning she had been bound up in when they'd received the telegram.

 _Papa seriously ill. Stroke. Come home at once._

Cora tucked her chin to her chest. The tears that had suddenly sprung up were too heavy to blink away, and they found release over the peaks of her cheeks. Rather than move and alert Robert to their presence, she let them fall, watching as they turned the lap of her lavender dress a spotty purple. She wasn't sure he would notice anyway. Tense and quiet as he was, he had already retreated inward, spending the duration of their journey in contemplation.

Hastily wiping away the evidence of her own sorrow, Cora reached to her side, laying a soft hand on Robert's arm. That he flinched shouldn't have surprised her, given the glaze of his eyes as he stared out at the passing scenery. That he didn't look to her shouldn't have bruised her already tender feelings, given his need to remain stoic, but it did, and Cora pulled away quickly.

She felt a chasm between them as she slouched further away, leaning into the opposite shoulder of the velvety bench they sat on. Cora sighed as deeply as her corset would allow, her thoughts turning more and more melancholy the longer Robert remained mute beside her.

A hand on her own startled her, and she jumped slightly, jerking around to see Robert's eyes on her own. Looking through her, they came to focus on her face slowly. His lips twitched upward from the frown they were in and he squeezed her hand gently.

"I'm sorry, darling. I haven't been a very good traveling companion for you." Robert's eyes wrinkled at the sides tiredly. "I just keep thinking…".

"I know, Robert." Cora responded, placing her other hand on top of his, cocooning it, anchoring it to her.

They spent the rest of their time in the train touching one another but quiet, brooding. Robert contemplating the future, the duty quickly rushing up to him. Cora's mind trained on the past, how raw their loss still felt.

* * *

Cora winced and slowed her steps. Her effort to keep up with Robert tugged at the sore spots within her body, the spots that still hadn't fully healed from the ordeal of childbirth. The front doors of Downton swallowed him as he rushed through and she wordlessly nodded at Carson as she passed him in the drive. His low 'milady' seemed especially somber to her ears.

The stillness that greeted her in the great hall overexposed the lack of activity that a day at Downton usually boasted. Even the errant servant scurrying by seemed to go from one place to another without a sound, truly becoming one of the shadows. A chill raised goosebumps on Cora's flesh, despite the stifling heat that the enormous fireplace was throwing off.

Alone and left behind, Cora climbed the stairs, wanting nothing more than to lie down. Once at the door of her bedroom, she hesitated, a larger desire pulling her further down the hallway. Now that she was home, now that she was so close, she could not be away from her daughters one moment longer. Bursting through the door with a renewed spirit, Cora stopped abruptly once in the room, looking around. The sweet faces of her girls were no where to be found in the room; it was empty, save for the furniture and toys that were arranged in neat order. About to step back out, Cora sucked in a breath, holding it. The bassinet that had been set up so many weeks ago, waiting the arrival of the newest little Crawley, was still in its place, still waiting, though its intended rested now and forever in a colder bed in the church cemetery.

Unable to resist, Cora went to the tiny cradle and stroked the frilly ring of lace that circled the frame. She hadn't been in the nursery since the day before the baby had been born. She had assumed the servants would have been instructed to dismantle the no longer needed bed but here it was, reminding her of her loss, of her failure. Tormenting her.

The night, or rather morning, came back to her then, as it had so many times since she'd lived it. The breaking of her water four weeks too early. The reassurances from Dr Clarkson that there was still a chance. The laboring for hours and hours without getting anywhere, as if her body, though being twice experienced, had never brought forth a child before. Cora had known from the first contraction, the way it cut into her with severity and urgency instead of the annoying discomfort of early labor, that this time was not the same as the last two. She knew as the pain trapped her, as she pushed and pushed and sweated and bled. She knew when finally she felt the baby slip free from her her body and there was no sound.

 _Stillborn._ Violet had whispered it to her maid but Cora had heard.

 _I want to see._ Cora's own voice, echoing in her head now as it had in the shocked quiet of the room that early morning.

Violet had protested, though her voice was void of its usual authority and thus rendered lame as Cora stretched out her arms, insisting. Dr Clarkson placed the bundle, sturdier than she had imagined, into her waiting hands. _A girl,_ he had informed her. And then she had been looking down into the porcelain face, perfect in every way, eerily serene.

Cora imagined her now. She would be plumped by the time that had passed, pink and alert and looking up at her mama as Cora peered into the bassinet that would have held her.

A floorboard creaked behind her just as she pressed a hand to her belly, no longer extended with the roundness of pregnancy, balling it into a fist and pushing into the space her baby once occupied. Of course it was Robert. He had an uncanny knack of finding her when she least wanted to be found. He didn't speak, the sound of his breathing shallow behind her.

"I thought they would have put it back in storage." Cora finally said, gesturing to the empty cradle.

No answer, just an inhale and exhale, before Robert replied. "Papa is dead."

* * *

Cora sat in the drawing room clasping her hands together. She was past the point of yearning to lay her head down and falling to the fatigue of the long day. Quite the opposite, her body now hummed with a nervous, jittery energy. She would be tempted to bounce her leg or get up and pace but Rosamund's watery sniffles and Robert's own face, already pinched with the weight of responsibility, kept her rooted to her seat, saying nothing.

She chanced a look at her mother in law sitting rigidly on the sofa, already dressed in black. Her spectacles were perched at the end of her nose as she contemplated the notes in her lap. Funeral arrangements. No less than four hours after the passing of her father in law and Violet was planning his burial. Cora marveled at the woman, but not with awe. She recalled her own mother, inconsolable for weeks after her father's death. Looking up to Robert once again she shuddered, unable to imagine her own state of mind if something should happen. She wouldn't be shrewdly plotting the placement of lilies on the church alter while his body laid lifeless upstairs, that was for certain.

Feeling suddenly queasy, Cora tore her eyes away from the inhabitants of the room. A dark figure at the door caught her attention. Carson titled his head slightly and Cora rose, gathering her skirts and walking to him, glad for the distraction.

"Milady, I'm sorry to disturb the family." Carson apologized sincerely.

"It's quite alright, Carson." Cora said kindly. "Is something the matter?"

"Cook is wondering if the family will be taking dinner." Carson replied.

"Oh my, it is past that time, isn't it?" Cora declared, noting for the first time the darkness outside the windows of the drawing room. "Why don't you tell her to put together something light. We can do a sort of buffet."

"Very good, milady." Carson nodded and slipped back out of the room.

Standing in the farther corner of the room, Cora studied Robert once again. He hadn't moved from the spot he had taken by the fireplace, hands holding the mantle. If they were alone, she would go to him, lean into his back and wrap her arms around his waist just so that he felt her near. He needed comfort, though he would never ask for it or say it, she knew he needed it.

His shoulders stooped with the need of it. And she, she desperately needed to give it, to mother something besides a ghost.

But his mother, she would never approve of such displays and Cora did not want to cause any more upset. Hesitantly, she returned to the spot on the divan that she had occupied, touching Rosamund's hand briefly. Her sister in law grasped hers hastily in return and continued to dab at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Over her bowed head, Cora smiled wanly at Marmaduke, who returned it gratefully, looking as awkwardly out of place as she felt.

It struck her then, holding Rosamund's hand, staring at the taut lines of Robert's suit jacket. He was an earl. Robert was now the seventh earl of Grantham. And she his countess. It suffocated her a moment, the weight of these titles. Of course she knew that one day they would take on these roles, but she had imagined a day further in the future, when they were grey and aging, not now, not in their youth.

"Milady, dinner is on the buffet if anyone should want." Carson suddenly stood before her, addressing both her and Violet, a first, as though he weren't sure whose reign he belonged to.

Violet, however, had no such insecurities. "Oh, I don't recall requesting dinner be served."

A ruddy rash began to creep up Carson's neck as he shuffled, searching for something to say. Cora got to her feet holding a hand out, letting Carson off. "I asked Carson to have cook put out some little things. I thought…"

"You thought?" Violet questioned, her voice high and clipped. "And what, exactly, did you think? That I am suddenly too feeble to run the house?"

"No, no!" Cora stuttered, feeling her own face grow flush from the scrutiny. Every eye was on her now. She chanced a look at Robert, her eyes widening, begging wordlessly, but he slowly turned away and she floundered under the steady gaze of her mother in law.

"I see," Violet said, "you thought that now you are Countess and have become an expert on how things are done."

"I just wanted to help," Cora said quietly.

"You should go to bed, Cora." Violet said, her words more of a command than a suggestion. "You're still recovering after all."

Cora nodded absently, feeling an idiot and fled the room before the stinging behind her eyes could produce any tears.

"Mama, was that necessary?" Robert sighed.

"I didn't see you defending her." Violet retorted before her attention returned to the papers in front of her.

Robert opened his mouth to say more but then closed it, because of course she was right. He had remained by the fire, unwilling to come to his wife's defense, though she did not deserve the tongue lashing. Perhaps it had been some sort of notion of filial duty that stole his words, though Violet had never needed his protection or aide. Cora did. Strong as she was, she needed him on her side, especially now.

Robert coughed, his mouth run dry, as he realized he hadn't wanted to defend her. He blamed her. She had taken from him his last moments with his father. If she had an ounce of the strength that he thought she possessed he wouldn't have had to bring her to London. She had fallen so deep into a dark mind after the baby, he had been lost as to how to help her. He had taken her away and his father had died. If he had been here, at Downton, where he belonged everything could have been turned out different.

If she had been strong, perhaps even the baby would have survived.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! And all the follows and faves so far! I'm so glad you are all liking it. Hopefully, you'll continue to do so.**

 **One note, I messed up a little in the previous chapter. I'd meant for the 'action' to start in the fall but then put the date as August. So I went back and fixed it. Chapter one should have started in November of 1895. And this chapter is just the following day. Enjoy!**

Cora awoke not in increments with the dawn slowly seeping in to dissipate the hold of sleep. She sprung awake, with her breath stuck behind her breast bone and her heart beating against her ribs like a mallet to a drum. Swiping her hands across her damp forehead she noticed the sun at full bloom. Not dawn after all, but mid morning. The light swirled the dust into floating funnels that stretched from the window down to the floor. It revealed what the darkness had cloaked, what she had only been vaguely aware of during her fitful sleep. The emptiness on Robert's side of the bed. Not just emptiness. Undisturbed.

He had slept elsewhere.

Sighing, Cora reached for the bell pull and waited for her maid. In the solitude of her room, her mind was left to wander. Robert had been so careful with her, so considerate, after the baby. He had been by her side always; quiet when she needed quietness, reading to her when she needed distraction, holding her when she needed comfort. London had been his idea, promising it would be good for her to 'get away from it all'. Her, not him. And it had been. Finally, she was able to properly grieve away from the critical eyes at Downton, able to loosen the plug she had stopped her emotions up with. It also had given her a chance to forget.

The first stirrings of guilt appeared as she wondered when Robert had done his own mourning.

Every part of her still ached with the loss. It was all she could do not to bury herself in the blankets of her bed and stay there, hiding and covered. But as Jenkins came through the door, Cora was determined to get up and dressed, as she had done most every day since the baby's birth, tucking her heartbreak away. She knew it was something that would never leave her and so she resolved to bare it.

Wordlessly, Jenkins laced up her corset, pulling the strings tight. The unyielding garment's embrace like an armor she stepped into, shielding her vulnerabilities.

Memories of the previous night couldn't be avoided and Cora ruminated, as she stepped into her dress, on Violet's sharpness and Robert's silence. There had been a look in his eyes when they'd finally met her own. The blues had turned grey, steel-like and cold and Cora had immediately felt distanced from him. Thinking on the meaning of his behavior, Cora couldn't help but be troubled.

* * *

Entering the hallway, Cora looked around for direction. After Jenkins was through with her, Cora had entered Robert's dressing room, fully expecting him to be with his valet. But once she was over the threshold, she found he was not there. Nor was there any clue as to the business he was tending to. All of the resolve she had just gained disintegrated and for the first time in quite a long time, she was unsure what was expected of her. After all this time, after providing the money to refurbish what was decaying, after giving life to the following generation, still Cora was an outsider, shunned from their shared grief and their sometimes puzzling rituals. Robert's actions the previous day had done nothing to change how she felt. What was a newly made countess to do on the first morning her husband was officially an earl?

A growing fear of inadequacy weighed on her and she fleeting wondered if she was already proving to be a disappointment to Robert. An English born girl would know what to do in this moment. The silent bedroom gallery offered no answers, so Cora turned to the one place she was always welcome.

Standing in front of the small door smoothing down her skirts, Cora forced away her insecurities and put a smile on her face before entering.

"Mama!" Mary was on her feet in an instant, bounding toward her, ignoring nanny as she admonished her to be "gentle with her ladyship". Her small arms circled Cora's neck as she bent down to receive her daughter.

Edith was not far behind her sister, clapping and jumping the whole way, chattering without pausing for breath about all they had done while Cora and Robert were away.

Cora led the girls to the large chair by the fireplace, carefully arranging them by her sides. "Mama has missed you both so!" Cora punctuated her declaration with a kiss to each girls forehead.

"We missed you too, Mama." Mary replied with all the seriousness her four year old face could convey. "Grandpapa has died."

"Yes...he has." Cora said slowly, pushing down the flash of anger that Mary's words inspired. The task of telling the girls should have been left to Robert or herself. "Does that make you very sad? Do you know what that means?"

Mary looked down at her lap, her little hands folded neatly on the pleats of her skirt, and nodded solemnly. "It means the angels take you to Heaven. Grandpapa is with God and our other grandpapa now. And the baby."

Cora's heart quickened at the mention of the baby. A tightness gripped her throat and so she merely stroked Mary's hair, not trusting her own voice. She noticed Edith looking at her, her light brows knit together.

"I thought you went to London to get the baby!" Edith declared, jumping off of the chair. Placing her hands upon her hips, she stomped her foot to the ground. "You were supposed to bring back a baby! You promised a baby!"

"Lady Edith!" Nanny hissed as Cora's mouth went dry.

Mary got to her feet, and before Cora could react, had pushed Edith hard in the chest. Her younger daughter landed on her bottom, a look of shock freezing her face before she began wailing.

"You are a stupid crabapple!" Mary shouted before she also burst into tears.

Lowering herself to the floor, Cora pulled the girls into her arms, rocking and shushing them lovingly, her own tears beginning to pool. Hadn't she shed all that she could?

"My lady, you shouldn't be on the floor." Nanny admonished quietly, hovering as mother and daughters clung to one another.

"I'm perfectly all right," Cora said. "But please, could you have someone take that out." Cora waved her hand in the direction of the bassinet, still resting in its spot across the room.

"Certainly. Right away." Nanny whispered and then hurried out the door, leaving the girls to cry with their mother.

* * *

Robert sighed deeply and rested his head in his hands, hoping that if he closed his eyes, the pile of telegrams surrounding him, screaming for attention, would disappear. After a few moments, he opened one eye cautiously and groaned when all of the paper came back into his vision.

He was glad for the quiet of the library. Quiet that had been hard won. To his dismay, he and Marmaduke were joined at breakfast by his mother, an occurrence that almost never happened in all of his twenty-nine years. His mind, as though bent on torturing him, replayed the breakfast scene.

 _Violet had entered the room and made a grand show of sweeping her eyes about the table before sitting down, an unhappy clucking sound preceding any greeting._

" _Good morning, Mama." Robert said, deciding that a comment about her presence would not be welcomed._

" _Hmph, it appears only some of us realize it is morning." Violet retorted, stirring her tea._

 _Marmaduke kept his eyes on his plate, as though eggs were suddenly the most interesting of God's creations. Robert placed his fork and knife down as soundlessly as he could and fixed his eyes on her. Her face was indecipherable._

" _What ever do you mean?" Robert asked, shaking himself for taking the bait but unable to let the comment lie._

" _Where is your wife?" Violet asked, pointing around the table to the empty chairs._

 _Robert took a few breaths before answering. "Upstairs. As she always is at this time."_

" _You would think her Highness would deem some events worth waking up early for. The death of your father should be one such event." Violet said before turning to her breakfast once again._

" _That isn't fair." Robert said. He hadn't stood up for her the night before, and guilt over his lack of support and his irrational blame left him feeling too exposed to face her. "You mustn't be so hard on her. Not now. Even you can't be that harsh, Mama."_

 _Violet only raised her eyes but at least she was no longer speaking. Robert went back to his breakfast, what little appetite he had, gone._

The rustling of fabric and the light sound of footsteps shook Robert from his memory of the morning. He knew before turning that it was Cora who waited behind him without preamble. The smell of her perfume, subtle in its contrast to the smells of leather and fire that permeated the library, tickled at his nose. He turned, a small consolation of a smile gracing his lips but it faltered as he looked at her. Robert frowned, holding the back of his chair to rise up in greeting.

She was dressed in black, of course she would be. Robert loved her in black usually. The contrast against her milky skin made her seem almost luminescent. With her dark curls and bright eyes, Cora in black could be a living painting by Sargent.

Today, however, the opaqueness of her gown only called more attention to the unhealthy translucent pallor that had stuck with her since giving birth. All that was highlighted were the dark smudges under her eyes permanently tattooing her skin, the growing hollow of her cheeks. Cora wore her distress like a costume though she rarely gave in to it outside the confines of their bedroom. Her appearance, only a day ago, had kept him by her side constantly, wishing he could wrap her in silk and care for her. But now, it only made him more annoyed. He needed her to be the rock she always was. How could he cope if she continued to crumble?

Her eyes, red rimmed but thankfully dry, bore into him. Cora knew him so maddeningly well, she sometimes knew his emotions before he felt them. Robert concentrated on relaxing the twitching muscles in his face, having good enough sense to shield her from his fluctuating mood. Hadn't he just instructed his mother not to be harsh with her?

And yet, and yet his own thoughts were not kind, because this was different. So damnably different. He wanted to fold himself in her protective arms. He wanted her to whisper encouragements, stroke his head as she often did, and convince him that he wouldn't muck it all.

But he couldn't. Robert wouldn't burden her, not when she was so fragile, and so he distanced himself. And he blamed her for the need to do so.

"Where did you sleep last night?" Cora broke the silence between them first. She almost always did.

"My dressing room. I didn't want to disturb you." Robert replied, his tone cooler than he felt.

"You wouldn't have, you know that." Cora's voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Robert cleared his throat and looked down at his feet as they shuffled, trying to find a better footing. God, how he wanted to bury his face in her neck, to have her pulse beat against his lips. He also wanted to shake her. Shout at her to return to herself. He did neither, only looked at her expectantly, as one would to a child taking too long to tell a story. When she didn't leave and didn't speak but continued to stare at him, her eyes wounded but her head high, Robert began to feel a sense of claustrophobia. Suddenly, the vast library was too small. His wish, his overriding desire, was for her to leave him to his solitude, so that he may think and plan and figure a way to make everything right.

"Cora, did you require something?" Robert asked. Her head bowed then, finally breaking eye contact with him, hiding whatever his words did to her and Robert felt no victory.

"No." On syllable, two letters. She breathed it and turned to go, to flee.

"Cora…" Robert called.

"I fear I've already disappointed you Robert, but I don't know how." Cora had stopped at his words though she shifted only slightly, presenting her profile to him as she spoke. "And if I have, then I am truly sorry."

Robert stepped forward wanting to touch her.

"Mama commented on your absence at breakfast. Perhaps for the next few days you could not take a tray." The words were out before he'd thought clearly on them. He'd only meant to offer a reason for his seeming displeasure because he couldn't tell her the truth. But when her wide, blue eyes locked on his, they glistened with betrayal, and he knew he'd made everything worse.

"How could you not tell me that would be expected?" Cora wondered, her voice rising.

"I...well..it's only-". Robert stuttered but Cora was alight with fire now. No longer wan and sickly looking, she was red with agitation.

"You remain frustratingly silent. You hide from me for over twelve hours and you have the _gall_ to say that to me?" Cora huffed with anger. Robert put out his hands, trying to placate her. "I know your father just died, Robert. I know this must be terribly overwhelming. But you've had your whole life to prepare for this and I have not."

"Well, perhaps if…" Robert said, only wanting to explain further but he knew the moment she recoiled that he should not have spoken.

"Perhaps if what?" Cora whispered. "Perhaps if I were English, I'd be better equipped?"

Robert rubbed his temples with his fingers, a pain starting to form between his eyes. "That's not what I-".

"Between this conversation and calming our confused and hurting daughters earlier, I am spent. I'm going to lie down." Cora shook her head and held up her hand as Robert came toward her. "And I'm sorry if that isn't very countess-like."

And with that, Cora left the room and Robert sank back into the seat of his father's desk wishing he could rewind their lives. How could everything fall to pieces in a matter of months?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you all again for all of the reviews. They mean so much!**

Cora descended the stairs with purpose. The previous afternoon's words with Robert had been the last they'd shared save for a hastily muttered "Good night," by Robert before he locked himself in his dressing room. Cora herself had spent the remainder of yesterday cloistered within her bedroom, coming down only to take her seat around the uncomfortably strained dinner table.

The morning, however, saw her no longer willing to play the part of the timid and wounded Lady Downton, too broken to take on her role. It was her lady's maid who gently reminded her that she was Lady Grantham now. Jenkins had always been her ally and confidant, helping her navigate the complex world of aristocratic country life. The woman was old enough to be her mother, and sometimes, secretly, Cora saw her as such. A surrogate one, anyway. Far more than she ever would Violet.

With Jenkins encouraging affirmations still echoing in her ears and her own need to get out from behind closed doors, Cora strode into Violet's sitting room. Her mother in law was sitting at her desk, scribbling away at a correspondence. Cora knocked lightly on the door frame to announce her presence, pushing away the lurch her heart made as Violet looked her over.

"Yes?" It was less a question and more a sigh of disapproval and Cora felt some of her nerve buckle.

"I wondered..." Cora started and then stopped, clenching her hands and willing the shakiness from her voice. "That is to say, I wondered if I might do something. To help."

"How very kind of you." Sarcasm laced Violet's words.

"Not really." Cora said with a flippant shake of her head that matched the aloof tone she adopted. "Quite the opposite, there is nothing altruistic about my offer. It's purely selfish. I need to keep busy."

Violet continued to appraise her before giving a small nod. "Very well." Bending, Violet lifted a basket overflowing with notecards from its place by her feet. "These are condolences. They need responses."

Cora looked down at the basket in her arms. There had to be at least a hundred letters. Trying to hide her weariness at the idea of answering every single one, Cora smiled and gripped her burden tightly.

"Here." Violet commanded, placing a large book on top of the mountain of papers. "You'll need to ensure no mistakes in salutations."

Cora glanced down and just barely stopped the roll her eyes were itching to make. Burke's Peerage.

"I shall begin then." Cora said.

"Cora." Violet called when she was almost out of the room. Cora turned and looked expectantly at Violet. The older woman had removed her reading glasses, leaving her face bare and suddenly more vulnerable than Cora had ever seen.

"You are, you know." At the perplexed twist of Cora's brow, Violet continued. "Kind. You are kind. Some may say too kind."

"I don't understand." Cora said softly.

With a sad chuckle, Violet looked out the drawing room window. It was an impressive view, the oversized windows full of the rolling hills outside Downton's walls.

"George always said if he took to heart half the words I said he'd think himself a pathetic, inconsequential man." Violet placed her glasses back on her face and just like that, the chiseled, guarded face of her mother in law was back. "You shouldn't waste anymore time. Please begin those at once."

Knowing Violet considered her dismissed, Cora said no more and hurried out of the room, confusion and an unidentifiable melancholy keeping her mind occupied all the way to her sitting room.

Robert stood in the drive, the hooves of horses crushing the gravel path as carriages took the last of the mourners away. Once the procession rounded the far bend, quietness descended around him. Turning, Robert let his gaze slide up the towering walls of Downton and he tried to imagine going back inside. Now that his father was buried, had been prayed over and sermonized and sent to God, he was well and truly master of Downton. Robert couldn't quite fathom it, and that he hesitated, that he didn't just grab his responsibilities with both hands and steadily accept what he always knew awaited him, made him the most scared of all.

Not able to go into the house just yet, Robert walked. He picked his favorite path to the east and thought only about the chilly air and the trail of vapors his breath left as he exhaled. He didn't get very far before Cora invaded his flimsy solitude. The unrest between them dragged at his conscience. She had been civil, if not distant, since his bumbling words to her in the library, keeping herself busy enough to avoid him for the past two days.

The last night had been the worst for him as he fitfully slept in his dressing room's unforgiving bed. Dreams had kept him from rest, dreams he could not fully recall come morning but that left a faint but persistent feeling of unease. Half remembered images, like paper thin spirits, stuck in his mind. Even as he had stood over his father's grave, Robert had been pre-occupied by the unsettling fragments he could almost remember. That his father featured in many of them made him feel less ashamed for not reflecting solely on George Crawley as the dirt hit the coffin.

So much was cloudy to Robert, but the one thing that was clear, the one thing he was most certain of since hearing his father had fallen ill, was that he was going to be a failure. How had it been five days ago already? He felt the fatigue of triple that amount of time.

Geese flying noisily overhead brought Robert out of his own thoughts. Looking up to the sky, he noticed the sun descending toward the horizon and realized he had stayed out far longer than was proper. Berating himself for one more misstep, he quickened his pace back to the walls of Downton.

"Good afternoon, Lord Grantham. My condolences once again." Dr Clarkson said as Robert hastily crossed the threshold.

Robert stopped abruptly in bewilderment. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but didn't we part hours ago."

Dr Clarkson let out a sympathetic chortle. "Yes. I was summoned back by Lady Grantham."

Robert frowned. "Is Mama ill?"

The young doctor looked at him with an odd expression before shaking his head. "No. Her ladyship called. Your wife."

"Oh," Robert replied as though still befuddled. "Oh! Is everything alright?"

Dr Clarkson nodded. "She should rest for the next day or two and everything will be fine." The doctor placed his hat on his head. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to the hospital."

"Of course," Robert called, already half way up the stairs.

* * *

The brusque tap, tapping of Robert's soles reverberated down the hall, preceding his footsteps

as he quickly shortened the distance between himself and his destination. Once in front of Cora's door, Robert didn't wait for her answer after his rapid knocking. Rushing into the room he found Jenkins fluffing pillows and clucking about as she usually did, tending to Cora like a mother hen instead of a lady's maid. Something about the woman always rubbed him wrong but Cora would hear nothing about her.

Seeing him enter, Jenkins whispered something about broth and left quickly without so much as a look in his direction. Once Robert was alone with Cora, the tension between them was overpowering, suffocating, and he almost turned and fled.

"Did you require something?" Cora's mockery of his own words just a few days before made him cringe with regret over his handling of her.

"I saw Dr Clarkson on his way out. I was worried that you were unwell." Robert replied sincerely.

The hardness in Cora's features softened a touch and she looked down. "It's nothing, Robert. I'm just to stay off my feet for a few days."

"Why?" Robert asked, moving toward the bed. He sat down gingerly, mindful of her possible physical discomfort. He wanted to take her hand but thought better of it. He wasn't entirely sure she'd welcome his comfort now.

"Robert," Cora sighed. "You have never been one to seek out too much medical information. Believe me when I tell you that you do not want to know."

Frustrated and tired, the anxiety that burned in his gut since the news of his father churned. It made him bark at those around him. It made him pout silently in corners. Fear and guilt and a merry go round of a hundred different emotions were turning him into someone he, nor Cora, recognised.

Slapping his hand down on the mattress, Robert felt his pulse quicken dangerously. "Dammit Cora! Either you are ill or you are not. I demand you tell me now why Clarkson was here."

Leaning away from him, Cora looked at him as though he'd changed form before her eyes. Perhaps he had. Robert certainly felt like a fairy tale monster, hunched over her bed, hands clenched and breathing heavily. He was so very done with weathering one storm after another. Taking a deep breath, Robert stretched out his fingers, willing himself to relax, all the while Cora staring at him with the same look she would give a stranger.

"Are you quite finished?" Cora asked calmly. Robert dipped his head down in ascent and Cora gripped the blankets tighter to her chest. "I started….bleeding again. It's normal after giving birth but mine had stopped a week ago. Until this morning."

Robert's gaze unwillingly traveled down the length of her body and though she was fully covered with seemingly every piece of bedding they owned, he felt lecherous for letting his eyes wander.

"But you are alright?" Robert asked, swallowing down the slight nausea her words produced. The remembered scent of blood in her room, the pungent, metallic smell, filled his nose. He knew it was a phantom scent, but it still made his stomach turn.

"Yes." Robert detected the slightest crack in Cora's voice as she spoke and he lowered himself on the bed once again, taking her hand this time.

"I'd like to come back here tonight. If you'll let me." Robert said, stroking the knuckles of Cora's knuckles.

"I never sent you away." Cora responded, squeezing his hand in hers.

Robert kept his eyes on their joined hands, the diamonds of Cora's ring catching the light. Their lives had seemed so secure, so right not long ago. Not trusting himself to adequately express the muddled contents of his heart, Robert lowered his head, pressing a kiss to the fine bones of Cora's hand. She buried her other in the curls of his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp and Robert lost himself in her touch.

"I want to help you, Robert." Cora murmured. "If only you would let me."

"I don't know what is the matter with me." Robert confided, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Cora's. "I keep thinking if only I had been here…"

Cora pulled away, searching Robert's face. "Do you really think your father wouldn't have died if you'd been at Downton?"

Robert let go of her and pushed himself onto his feet, running his hand through his hair. "I don't know! I should have been taking on more, allowing him to work less."

"Robert, you were taking on a great deal! As much as Papa would allow." Cora pointed out.

"I should have insisted he let me do more!" Robert declared emphatically. "I shouldn't have gone to London."

"Oh..." Cora said under her breath, closing her mouth tightly before saying anything else. What else could she say, really? She would shoulder the burden of culpability Robert placed upon her until he came to his senses. Cora could only hope it was soon, for all of their sakes.


	4. Chapter 4

**_AN: Thank you all for your lovely reviews. They really do brighten my day and keep the motivation flowing! Happy almost Downton day!_**

 _Dearest Mother,_

 _I cannot begin to fathom the cost of the flower arrangement you sent. It is easily the biggest we received. Mama grumbled something about the American penchant for grandiosity, but I think it was a mighty fine gesture. Robert was certainly touched._

 _Usually Reverend Travis conducts Sunday services, but of course Mama had an archbishop up for the funeral mass. There were more people in that church than at our wedding, if you can believe it. Some had to stand. Almost all of the village lined the roads as the carriages made their path from the house to the church. It was a most elaborate affair, planned almost exclusively by Mama._

 _I don't know that the girls fully understand. Mary seems to have some inkling of what it all means. Edith is just confused and asking when grandpapa will come to see her. I know that all traditions and rituals have their place, but I wish we could do away with some of them. The black cloth covering the mirrors, the crepe over the mantels and on the door, it makes the house so menacing and macabre for the girls. Edith cries when she's led through the great hall and Mary has woken up with nightmares on a few occasions._

 _Robert is quite plagued and it worries me. I never really gave it much thought before, how difficult the transition would be when the time arose, how cruel it is to the psyche. Of course Robert has always known he would be the earl one day, has prepared for it. But it is one thing to be ready and altogether another to step into the role while mourning his father. He feels he will be a disgrace. At least, that is the little he has let me know. Since Papa's passing, he has been very remote, keeping to himself mostly. I fear, if he doesn't have faith in himself that he has even less in me._

 _I am sorry, mother, to have laid this all down. You musn't be troubled by my words. I am sure it will all work itself out, we are just in a period of flux._

 _Take very good care, and I love you._

 _Cora_

Placing her pen down on the tray across her lap, Cora gently waved the paper back and forth, coaxing the ink to dry. She pictured Martha back in New York, reading her loopy script weeks after she'd penned her letter. All of her news would be old, taking its place in the past. What would their lives look like in a handful of weeks?

Folding the stationary methodically, Cora thought of what she hadn't written. She thought back to the burial the day before, standing at the gaping wound of earth that her father in law's casket would descend into. While all eyes were on the ornate coffin or the archbishop, she had stared at the tiny stone off to the left, her eyes shadowed by the wide brim of her hat. Just a small slab of granite flattened to the ground, it was unmarred and new, most likely having been placed on the grave while they were in London. If she squinted, she could make out the inscription. _Baby Crawley._ It had taken all of her willpower not to go to it, to stand on the patch of dirt and recall the perfect little face of her unnamed daughter.

Hastily, Cora stuffed the letter in the waiting envelope, shaking the images from her mind. It wouldn't do to dwell on such things. All of her energy needed to be focused on Robert and the girls, getting them through this period of grief. Cora ran her hand over the neatly folded bedsheets on Robert's side. He had remained last night, though neither of them had slept much. She had listened to Robert as he tossed and fidgeted. Finally, sometime around dawn, he had given up his struggles to find sleep, placed a quick kiss on her cheek and left. Cora had heard the muffled sounds in his dressing room as he changed for the day and then she had gotten up and stood at her window. Minutes later she saw his dark figure striding across the estate, his shoulders rounded against the cold. She had wanted to join him, to feel the November air burn her lungs and the blood pumping furiously under her skin to warm her. She had wanted to place her hand in the safety of his, to feel connected. Cora longed for a reassurance that they were traveling the dark road they found themselves on together.

But the instructions of Dr Clarkson had her padding back to her lonely bed and waiting out the rising of the sun.

Lifting the tray, Cora put it aside and rose. She sat at her vanity and began to take out the carefully constructed braid that held her hair in place. The metallic clicks of the door's latch preceded Jenkins arrival in her room. In the reflection of her mirror, Cora could see the maid's look of confusion at the empty bed.

"Milady, I thought you were to be resting." Jenkins said while coming to her side.

"Yes, well, I feel perfectly fine. I don't see any need to lay in bed all day." Cora said firmly, mimicking a tone that resembled Violet's.

Recognizing the inflection, Jenkins bit down the words that her mouth was just forming and simply nodded. "As you wish, milady."

* * *

Robert drummed the tips of his fingers against the oak of his desk in anticipation. Murray carefully took the large ledgers he had brought out of his leather case and placed them in front of Robert. As he started to take in the rows and rows of numbers and notations, Robert's stomach fluttered in discomfort. The room suddenly too warm, Robert pulled at his collar.

"Lord Grantham," Murray started and Robert felt a drop of perspiration well up on his forehead and trail down his face. "I hope, after we've gone through the books, you will see why this needed to be done so quickly after your father's passing."

"They cannot be all that bad, Murray." Robert laughed nervously but at the older man's pursed lips Robert's attempt at humor died and he sat straighter. "Surely Lady Grantham's dowry is still providing the estate with the funds it needs."

Murray shook his head and and the room swayed a little in Robert's vision. "The heft of Lady Grantham's dowry is disappearing at an alarming rate."

"How can that be?" Robert asked, a panic growing in time to his quickening heartbeat. "The money she came into our marriage with….it was more than one could spend in a lifetime!"

"One would think." Murray replied. "But it is not turning out to be the case. If the estate keeps eating away at the principle, that money will be gone before the next earl takes your place."

"Dear God," Robert breathed. "What has Papa done?"

Murray pointed to a few of the entries in the ledger. "These are outstanding debts. Many of the farms are losing money and the tenants are late on the rent. By months, milord. His lordship was loaning money from the estate to them and while it's kept the books in the black, it's a very dangerous trap."

"Not to mention all of the updates and repairs that have happened in the last few years." Robert added.

Robert stood up, pacing to the window. Downton had been falling down around them, some wings in such a state of decay that they had been shuttered off, home to cobwebs and forgotten glories. He remembered well the bitter embarrassment that emanated from his mother like a perfume. They had stopped hosting large weekends and parties, Violet unwilling to be the subject of gossip in London. His father had spent more and more time out in the village, on the estate, closed up in his office, as though immersing himself in the carnage of Downton would slow its decline.

And then Cora had walked into a London ballroom one spring day, a new Worth dress beautifully covering her young body and the jewels around her neck and hanging from her ears sparkling expensively. A beacon of wealth, a promise of riches. He had brought her to his country home, against his mother's wishes, and everything she touched began to shine once again.

"You know," Robert said after silence had blanketed the room, "Lady Grantham's father, my father in law, he made millions out of nothing. He was the oldest son of Jewish immigrants living in the Lower East side of New York. He had seven brothers and sisters and a grandmother squeezed into 4 rooms. Amongst the squalor he taught them all English. He went to work when he was eleven years old and didn't stop until the day he died."

Robert braced his hand against the window frame, almost talking to himself more than Murray. "Isadore Levinson made millions out of nothing and gave his only daughter a share of his fortune. My father took those millions and has reduced them to dust. What am I to tell my wife of her father's money? That it was _lost_? Squandered? That my father was handed a second chance and failed again?"

"No, milord." Murray said firmly. "You start doing things your way. What's been spent is gone, but you can be firm without being unkind to the tenants. They need to start producing. Any mismanaged holdings need to be gotten rid of. And you need to invest."

"Oh Murray," Robert sighed, pushing himself away from the window and looking at his lawyer. "I think I shall need your guidance."

Murray smiled wide. "And I will be happy to give it. All's not lost yet. The estate is bleeding money, but if we apply a tourniquet, cut off the dead weight, than we will thrive again."

* * *

"I am a princess! I am a princess!" Edith exclaimed, attempting a clumsy pirouette across Cora's room and falling in a heap of arms and legs. The tiara that she had stuck into her curls clattered to the floor and Cora cringed, peaking over the bed at the glittering diamonds. Luckily, the piece looked to be in tact.

Beside her, Mary sighed, a great big blow of air between her lips that lifted the fringe of her bangs off her forehead before they settled gracefully down. Cora chuckled and pulled her eldest closer, squeezing her lithe body to her own. Mary, dignified, independent Mary, had refused to leave her side since they had arrived in her bedroom. She had been in the drawing room when the two came bursting in like canons, followed by a frazzled looking Nanny March. Apologizing in a flood of words for the intrusion, Nanny seemed on the verge of frustrated tears when Cora dismissed her, saying she would spend a few extra hours with the girls. She had brought them up to her room. Edith had immediately wanted to play dress up, usually a favorite game of Mary's, but Mary had refused, staying on the bed next to where her Mama had sat.

Cora looked down, watching Mary's serious face. Lifting up her daughter's chin, Cora met her dark eyes.

"Darling, what's the matter? You are awfully quiet today." Cora coaxed gently.

"Mary was afraid to sleep last night." Edith sang as she lept like a sugar plum fairy across the room, Cora's best shawl around her thin shoulders.

"Can't you send her away?" Mary asked quietly and Cora would have smiled indulgently at her if Mary's voice didn't contain a slight tremor in it.

"Darling," Cora pulled her even closer and Mary laid her head on her breast. "Did you have a nightmare last night?"

Without saying a word, Mary nodded and wrapped her arms around Cora's waist. Cora stroked her hair and rocked her back and forth, placing kisses on top of her head. She felt Mary breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling, until the sound turned into the steady rhythm of someone asleep. Cora waved her hand at Edith, motioning for her to stop. Seeing that Mary was napping in her mother's arms, Edith threw off the shawl and clamored to the high bed, jumping up and down, her little blond curls and her honey eyes bouncing in and out of sight behind the high wall of her mattress.

"Shhh, dearest," Cora whispered, placing a finger over her lips.

Edith began to pout, her eyes suddenly swimming with the promise of tears. "I want up."

"Hmm," Cora replied, shifting Mary carefully and leaning down. She gripped Edith tightly under her arms and hefted the girl up onto the bed. "Now you must take a nap as well if you want to stay."

"We'll all rest together!" Edith said in the loudest whisper Cora had ever heard.

Sliding, Cora guided Edith down with her and each girl curled into her side. She could feel the heat of them, the vital fires that radiated within them, that swam through their veins and for the first time in months, she felt truly warm.

* * *

Robert couldn't move. He wouldn't dare even if his feet had the ability to obey his mind, which they didn't. He had come up in search of Cora after finding her discarded needlepoint in the drawing room. Ready to scold her for not following Dr Clarkson's orders, he had been unprepared for the scene he found.

Cora lay in the middle of their bed, covered in the tangled limbs of their daughters. All three snored softly, a sweet kind of music he could listen to all afternoon. He longed to join them, to climb up and share in the comfort they so obviously drew from one another. He longed to climb up and sit vigil over them, his innocent treasures, and protect them from harm.

Stepping as lightly as he could, Robert gathered the heavy throw blanket kept on Cora's sofa and gingerly placed it over their bodies, tucking the corners around them. He took hold of Edith's arm and lifted it off of where it rested across Cora's forehead, placing it down by her side. Briefly, he touched a palm to Mary's shoulder before bending, grazing his lips over the peak of Cora's cheek. She stirred and he smoothed away a curl that had come loose.

"Sleep," Robert mouthed the word but Cora stilled, burying her face deeper into the pillow under her head.

Walking on the tips of his toes, Robert turned back one last time as he reached the door. They were dear to him, those three beauties sleeping on the bed, dearer than anything else. Suddenly, it all became clear. The blame and guilt and doubt sloughed off of him, like a shedding of his skin, and what grew in it's place was an overwhelming desire to do right by them, to make them proud. Robert became confident. He would do anything for them. He could be the Earl of Grantham they expected him to be.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Ok, so I know that Victorian mourning traditions were pretty strict and that the Crawleys probably wouldn't have as many people as I saddle with them over this particular holiday, with L.G. having only passed a month prior. But for the sake of fiction and the narrative, I had to do what I had to do. Don't flay me.**

December 1895

Cora let her eyes travel up the expanse of the large Norwegian spruce, the sight of it in the great hall stirring up a childlike happiness within. The tree had been delivered only an hour prior, the gardner's boys still pruning its needles, and the downstairs smelled of Christmas promises already. If there was any year that the merriment of a holiday was needed, it was this.

At the small table set up for them, Mary and Edith eagerly created pomanders for hanging on the the sturdy branches. Each girl gripped her orange, decorating it liberally with the cloves Mrs. Jones had sent up from the kitchen. Mary was in deep concentration, bent over her project and arranging the starred spices in an intricate scrolling pattern. Edith's ornament was a sticky ball of ribbons and cloves, the orange having been pierced all over it's flesh. Cora's youngest daughter grinned widely up at her as juice dripped down her hand and onto the oriental rug.

"John," Cora called to the hall boy nearby. "Perhaps you could send one of the maids up with some rags."

"Granny is going to be furious with you for making such a mess." Mary declared.

Edith's smile faltered, her eyes going wide and bouncing between Mary's smug expression and Cora's shaking head.

"Don't worry about Granny," Cora said, patting Edith's shoulder. Edith stuck her tongue out at Mary. As Cora was about to scold her for her behavior, she spotted Carson approaching.

"Carson, where are the ornaments? I thought the footmen would have fetched them by now?" Cora asked.

"Yes, milady, about the ornaments…" Carson began, hesitation drawing out his words.

"I sent them back to the attic." Violet declared, coming down the stairs on the heel of Carson's words.

"What?" Cora asked in wonderment. "But, why?"

"Why? Do you have any idea how vulgar your actions are?" Violet hissed, waving her hand at the still bare tree.

Glancing sideways, Cora saw the girls staring intently at their mother and grandmother, absorbing every word that was spoken.

Turning to Carson, Cora asked, "Might you bring the girls to nanny?"

"Yes milady." Carson replied before collecting Mary and Edith and bringing them upstairs. Edith latched onto the butler's hand, telling him all about her list for Father Christmas but Mary hung back, looking at her grandmother and Cora gravely. Carson placed a hand on her shoulder and gently steered her toward the stairs.

Once the girls were safely on the gallery landing and could no longer be heard, Cora faced her mother in law. "Do you mean to cancel Christmas?"

"We are a house in mourning." Violet stated, her nostrils flaring in indignation.

"We are also a house with two little girls in it. You are going to deny your granddaughters a Christmas celebration this year?" Cora asked, her voice rising with her disbelief. "They are just babies!"

"Precisely," Violet said with annoyance. "Mary is four and Edith is three and they won't even remember."

"How can you say that?" Cora cried. "Of course they will! And even if they don't, _I_ will remember!"

"We are a civilized people with civilized traditions." Violet said, looking Cora up and down with a turn of her nose. "I'm sorry if you cannot appreciate that."

"This isn't civilized." Cora replied. Feeling the heat of her fury pulse in her chest, Cora clasped her hands together and squared her shoulders. "Those are my children and this is our house. We are having Christmas and if you do not like it, then the Dower House is ready and waiting for you."

Violet's eyes widened. Cora's words and the venom behind them momentarily leaving her wordless and sputtering. Not wishing to wait for a rebuttal, Cora spun around and walked quickly up the stairs. The spark of pride she'd had for herself in standing up to Violet quickly shriveled and disappeared as she worried what Robert would say. It saddened her that she wasn't completely convinced he would take her side.

* * *

The tear-drop shaped crystals, which hung from the bathroom's sconces, shook as Robert's agitated and quick strides boomed through the walls. Cora could picture the look of his face as he crossed the threshold of her bedroom. Closing her eyes, Cora sank a little deeper into the steaming bath Jenkins had just prepared. She inhaled the scent of the jasmine bath salts, hoping for the best before pushing herself up and out of the bathtub, wrapping a towel around her torso. When the door swung open and the cold air rushed in, her hope flailed.

"Please tell me my mother heard you wrong," Robert began, his voice measured, his eyes boring into hers.

"Robert-".

"Please tell me that you did not instruct my mother to move to the Dower House!" Robert bellowed, cutting off Cora's words.

"I think my meaning was misconstrued just a bit." Cora replied.

"Was it?" Robert asked, tilting his head, clearly disbelieving.

"Robert," Cora snapped. "She is cancelling Christmas!"

"She's doing no such thing," Robert scoffed.

"She is!" Cora insisted. "She won't let us decorate the tree. A tree _she_ ordered months ago, I might add. I didn't have it delivered. What is next? No presents?"

Robert stood in her bathroom, his initial indignation clouding his vision. As the cloud dissolved he realized that she was before him, wearing nothing but a towel and dripping water onto the tiles. Gooseflesh had broken out on her pale skin. Sighing, he swiped another off of the bench and went to place it around Cora's shoulders.

"We just have to make allowances. We are in mourning." Robert said more calmly.

As Robert's fury dwindled, Cora's rose. She stepped away from him, shrugging from his touch. "YOU are in mourning. I don't know what she is."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Robert questioned, following as Cora stomped out of the bathroom and into her bedroom.

"Oh Robert," Cora spat over her shoulder. "Perhaps she is in mourning. But not for your father. She's in mourning for her position, for her power."

"How dare you say that?" Robert scolded.

Cora kept her back to him, punching her arms through the sleeves of her dressing gown. Her fingers shook as she attempted to slip the silk buttons through the small eyelets. Anger made her breath quicken and Cora swallowed in gulps of air, trying to calm herself. Behind her, the room was uneasily silent.

"You can have your Christmas. I'll tell Mama." Robert said evenly. His passive voice, so empty of emotion, made Cora whirl around. "But she isn't moving to the Dower House. It's too soon."

Robert wouldn't meet her eyes as he turned to leave and Cora was instantly ashamed of her outburst. She felt childish having lashed out at Violet and then Robert. It was just a few Christmas decorations, after all. How could she support him, as she had vowed, when she fought with him? She knew the demands he faced, knew the finances of the estate kept him up late at night, knew how responsible he felt for all of them.

"Robert, I'm sorry." Cora plead, rushing to his retreating back and placing her hand on his arm, but he stayed rigid, not allowing her to move him.

"You've done nothing wrong." Robert replied coldly before striding out into the hall and leaving her.

* * *

"Are you having a happy Christmas, Cora?" Violet's question was asked innocently enough, her upturned lips free of condescension, but Cora knew better.

She knew the woman was absolutely giddy. Giddy with satisfaction that Cora's wish had been skewed and uprooted. Was it so awful of her, so criminal, to have wanted a holiday celebration for her girls? They certainly found themselves having a celebration now. Somehow Rosamund had involved herself in the planning and the house was full of people. Who was enjoying themselves more, the girls or Robert, remained to be seen.

Cora's eyes slid from Violet to her husband. He sat back in the library's plush sofa, emitting a relaxed chuckle and taking a long sip of his tea, staring over the rim of the cup at the subject of his mirth. Victoria Pembroke, or rather, Lady Ulster, placed a delicate hand over her mouth, her eyelids lowered coquettishly before she blinked them in Robert's direction.

Their intimate family holiday had become something more, thanks to Rosamund. Determining the household required some cheering up, and citing that it was against propriety for the Crawleys to answer social calls but _not_ to receive a few trusted confidants, Rosamund invited James and his wife, Lily and little Patrick. How Lady Shackleton and her children were also entreated upon to join them, Cora was yet to find out. The son was dull, his wife repugnant, but Lady Shackleton's daughter was anything but those things. Pretty, honey-haired, widowed Victoria had grown up with Rosamund and Robert and had a very familiar report with her husband.

"It's snowing!" Victoria exclaimed happily, interrupting the muted conversations within the library's walls and Cora's own simmering thoughts.

"Ahh, so it is." Robert observed.

Cora watched the lazy snowflakes dot the landscape beyond the windows. The first snowfall of the season, she was tempted to leap up and run to alert the girls. They would be tickled to see snow on Christmas Eve.

"Let's have Hanson bring out the horses and sleigh!" Rosamund's exclamation was met with a chorus of agreement.

Cora gaped at the others in the room, who were already standing and instructing Carson to gather coats and inform the stable. Three weeks prior she had been reprimanded by Violet for wanting a Christmas tree, and now here they were, essentially hosting a house party, engaging in what Violet would call frivolous pursuits like sleigh riding.

"You children go." Violet encouraged and it was all Cora could do not to let her mouth fall open.

"I shan't go either." Geraldine, Lady Shackleton's daughter in law said, a mysterious smile on her face as she stood and touched a palm to her waist before letting it fall.

"Ohh!" Lily clapped her hands excitedly. "Congratulations!"

Geraldine and Edward received everyone's words of goodwill graciously. Cora found what she meant to say remained lodged in her throat, the lump growing painful, so she merely nodded. A strained smile etched onto her face, she watched with growing horror as the group slowly remembered that she had not too long ago delivered a child. An uncomfortable pall descended upon the room and Cora's stomach cramped as all eyes averted from her.

Finally, Robert cleared his throat, his face pinked with embarrassment. "Yes then, shall we go for our ride?"

The room burst into a flutter of activity, everyone overly zealous in their enthusiasm, everyone trying to distance themselves from the awkward interlude they had just endured. Jenkins had brought down Cora's warm coat and gloves and as she helped her into them, Cora watched Robert holding out Victoria's cape. He placed the ends in her hands, so that she may clasp the collar around her neck, and Cora's intake of breath was sharp and piercing when their fingers met and lingered together. Perhaps feeling the heat of her stare, Robert jerked his eyes in her direction and then hastily pulled his hands back to his sides before striding ahead of the group and barking instructions to the groomsmen.

Once all of her garments were on, Cora walked through the great hall and out into the fresh air. The snow still fell around them. The sleighs, ornamented with folded plaid blankets and the horses, snuffing and shaking their heads, releasing the peel of bells, seemed right out of a picture book. The picturesque scene, the hills around them turning white, the smell of burning fires pluming from the chimneys, the crisp air waking up her lungs, it should have soothed her. And maybe it would have, if she and Robert weren't sharing the ride with half a dozen other people.

As it was, Cora's desire to bounce about the grounds was waning quickly, so when Robert walked to the sleigh with Victoria and Edward in it and waved at her impatiently to follow, it was all she could do not to drag her heels into the drive and stay put. A flash of imagination creating a picture in her mind of Robert and Victoria, sitting side by side under a blanket, laughing and sharing meaningful glances, ignorant of Edward and the passing countryside, propelled her forward. She grasped Robert's offered hand and pretended that Victoria's smile at her was genuine.

* * *

" _He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"_

Cora closed the book and looked at each of her daughters. They laid in their beds, covers drawn under their chins and braids decorating the pillows they rested upon. Their sleepy faces were tinged pink from the fire crackling in the hearth, and stockings hung from the rails of their beds, waiting for Father Christmas's treats.

"I hope I get a dolly and pram," Edith said dreamily, her eyelids growing heavy.

"Have you been a good girl?" Cora teased.

"No!" Mary replied.

"Yes!" Edith answered at the same time as her sister.

Cora chortled and bent to kiss Edith. "Good night, darling. Go to sleep or Father Christmas may pass us by."

The door burst open as Cora's lips pressed against Mary's forehead.

"You've already read the story?" Robert whined from the doorframe.

"You missed it Papa," Mary scolded.

Cora rolled her eyes at her husband as he leaned against the wall for support and stepped aside. His footing was unsure as he went past her in the direction of the girls beds and Cora wrinkled up her nose, the smell of scotch following in his wake. Crossing her arms, she observed as Robert kissed each of the girls, whispered into their ears and then stumbled back out into the hall behind her. Turning abruptly, Cora marched to their room, ignorant of Robert's calls.

Once over the threshold, Cora hastily took the pins out of her hair, having sent Jenkins to bed. Sinking down at her vanity, she stopped her ministrations and stared at her reflection in the glass. Cora pressed her fingers to her cheek. She looked as old as she felt, much older than her twenty-seven years. The past few months had aged her, dulled the glow of her skin and the shine of her eyes. Of course Robert would spend the day and night flirting with Victoria. Cora couldn't blame him, not when she was a wilting flower and Victoria was so beautiful and vibrant.

She buried her face in her hands, the threat of tears burning behind the bridge of her nose.

"Why did you run off?" Robert called out from the door separating their rooms.

Not waiting for an answer, he lumbered to where she sat, placing his hands on her shoulders. Robert lowered his head, kissing the small patch of her neck that was not covered by the itchy lace of her mourning dress. She felt his saliva, smelt the alcohol and swallowed down the urge to be sick. He hadn't touched her with any romantic intent since just before the baby was born. For three months she had craved him upon her, in her, around her. The tears she had held threatened to fall as Robert paused to blow out the candles. Covered in darkness, Cora let him lead her to her bed and dismissed the rough and rushed activities of his hands as they pulled and pushed at her clothing. Her chest strained and constricted as she refused to release her upset.

If Robert noticed, it did not stop him from searching out her center and entering her. As much as Cora wanted to weep, her body wanted him more. It was ready for him, starved for his attentions and she wasn't sure what made her feel more betrayed, her husband who couldn't have what he wanted and so settled for her, or her own flesh, singing gratefully at his ministrations, willing to forgive him everything if he'd only touch her more.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Latifraise had a question about timing, specifically when George Crawley died in relation to what is happening currently in the story. Sorry that this hasn't been made clear. George died in early November, so when Cora and Violet have the argument about the Christmas tree, I'm envisioning that a month would have passed, making that scene early December, and then ofcourse Christmas is the 25th. And while we are talking timeline, Cora would have given birth to her stillborn daughter mid September.**

 **Thank you all soo much for the reviews! This is a short chapter, but I'd like to think it's a nice little treat!**

Cora watched the colors of the winter sunrise slowly bleed across the sky. Sometime during the night, Robert had fallen asleep with his face buried in the crook of her neck, his arm thrown across her waist. She should feel happy and content but all she felt was disappointed and hollow.

She studied the spiderwebs of frost left on the giant windows of her room as Robert shifted in his sleep. He groaned, certainly feeling the after effects of too much alcohol the evening before. Cora thought the memory of his behavior would create a little spark of emotion to light up the dull nothing that had filled her overnight, but it did not.

Her body protested with a virgin's soreness as she shifted away from him and slid off of her bed. Sitting in front of her vanity, Cora carefully replated the hair Robert had tugged free in his sloppy frenzy. The girls would be up soon, ready to run and see what Father Christmas had left them and it wouldn't do to have them see her so disheveled. They were to have a perfect Christmas, even if she could not.

As if on the cue of some omniscient theater director, Cora heard their tiny feet falling just outside her door before they pushed through it in a flurry of excitement. Seeing them, faces still dewy from sleep, Cora felt a stirring of happiness.

"Mama! Papa! Wake up!" Edith cried as she entered. Once she saw Cora, she ran to her and pulled her arms impatiently, seemingly ready to drag her down to the great hall.

Mary stood by the bed, poking Robert in the face. "It's Christmas, Papa!"

Robert shielded himself from Mary's insistent fingers and rolled further away, cocooning deeper in the blankets. Mary and Edith frowned in unison.

"We want to go downstairs," they whined.

Cora arranged her dressing gown over her night dress and placed a hand on each of the girl's shoulders. They were almost at the door when she turned, looking over to the bed to see Robert struggling to sit up.

"We are going down. I won't make them wait forever, so if you'd like to see them unwrap their presents, you should make yourself presentable quickly." Robert peered over the blankets in time to see her shutting the door.

* * *

Robert resisted the urge to rub at his aching temples as Mary and Edith, overtired from an early morning and the day's festivities, quarreled about the new dolls sent to them by Martha. Victoria sat to his right, talking about her recent travels to the Continent with a great aunt and he would have been entertained by her anecdotes, if it weren't for the faint quesiness that plagued him since awaking. Thinking of the previous night, of the almost Bacchanalian way in which he'd conducted himself, had him burping up bile. Some things were hazy. How many drinks he had remained unclear. The fleecing he'd suffered by Marmaduke at cards had to be recalled to him over the gift exchange. What shone with a sharp and jagged clarity, however, was the way he'd taken Cora without so much as a word. He'd been rough and demanding. Her tears had mingled with his wet kisses but he was too drunk to question them before finding quick release and slumping against her.

This morning, he was too sober to banish the memory from his mind. The salty taste of Cora's tears stayed in his mouth along with the aftertaste of scotch. They hadn't a moment to themselves for him to beg for her forgiveness and Cora had avoided his looks all morning.

Robert looked in her direction as Victoria continued to speak. She sat perched on the end of the sofa, Edith sleeping in her arms. She rocked their child gently, a low humming just barely discernable over the crackling fire and the other voices in the room. Robert bolted up, sure not to make a sound as he navigated around discarded wrapping paper and strewn toys.

Bending down, Robert held out his arms and whispered. "I'll take her to her room."

Finally, Cora lifted her eyes to meet his and shook her head before nodding it in the direction of the floor. Robert followed and saw Mary, asleep at Cora's feet, hugging her new tea set tightly. Despite himself, the sight prompted a release of laughter and it warmed him to see Cora smiling as well.

"Let me help you up, and then I'll collect Mary." Robert mouthed the words, but Cora understood as she wiggled further to the edge of the cushions.

Robert grasped her by the elbows and carefully lifted her to her feet, Edith unaware of the movement as she slept in the safety of Cora's arms. Lowering himself, he gathered Mary and without a word followed behind Cora. Taking the stairs carefully, Robert looked up, his wife's back just a few steps ahead as she carried Edith. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the stairs, the staff enjoying their own celebrations downstairs.

If only they were alone, without a library full of guests to entertain. Robert imagined taking Cora to their bedroom, relaxing by the fire with glasses of sherry, the girls sleeping soundly and no one to disturb them. They could exchange presents as they had in Christmases past, in solitude, and then perhaps…

 _Oh God!_

Robert entered the nursery behind Cora, sure that the rapid beating of his heart would call attention to his dreadful mistake. He grew hot and then cold. Robert's hands shook as he lowered Mary into her bed, his stomach dropping with panic. How could he have forgotten such a thing? His shame increased as he watched Cora lovingly arrange the blankets around Edith before retreating out of the room. Robert hung his head while Cora eased the door closed. She turned to him and he continued to look at the carpeting, unable to show his face. Surely, his ineptitude was written all over it.

"We should be getting back," Cora said after the silence had grown thick and discomforting.

"Cora…" Robert said, needing to unburden himself and be rid of the growing heaviness his secret caused. "Your gift…"

Cora raised her eyebrows. "You want to do it now?"

She had gotten him something. Of course, _she_ hadn't forgotten _him._

"I forgot." Robert blurted, and her initial confusion gave way quickly as she comprehended what he meant.

"Oh God, I am so sorry." Robert said, his voice cracking.

"It's all right, Robert." Cora said gently, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it reassuringly. "What I want cannot be found under the tree or in a box anyway."

Cora let go of his hand and started for the stairs. Robert tripped to get to her, grasping her upper arm.

"What is it that you want? What is your Christmas wish, Cora?" Robert asked desperately.

Her answering smile was fragile, wavering on her face. "I want you to be at peace. For both of us. I want us to be what we were and what I know we can become."

"I don't deserve you." Robert whispered.

Cora's eyes watered. "And here I've been thinking you were wishing I was someone else."

"What?!" Robert asked incredulously.

It was Cora's turn to not meet his eyes. She looked at her hands as they wrung together. "Victoria is quite handsome. And...friendly."

Robert snorted. "Victoria is a fortune hunter if ever there was one. And she told me, very sternly, when she was seven years old and I was nine, that I was too ugly and too poor for her."

Cora glanced up, searching his face for the truth. "Oh?"

Robert stepped closer, lightly stroking her cheek. "What I didn't tell her then, what I only learned a handful of years ago, was that she was too ugly and poor for me too. Too ugly in spirit and too poor in heart. But then, everyone looks that way compared to you."

"Oh stop," Cora chortled, swatting at his arm playfully. The small gesture, the delicate sound of her humor, made Robert's breath stutter in his lungs.

When he was able to speak, he said, "Let's not go down."

"Really?" Cora's face brightened, some of the lost glow returning at his suggestion. "Your mother will be very angry at us."

"Let her." Robert declared, taking Cora's hand and leading her back to their bedroom. "If anyone deserves a holiday of their choosing, it is you and I."

"What do you have in mind?" Cora giggled, hurrying to keep up with him.

Robert stopped to open the bedroom door, pulling Cora inside quickly. "I might not have a present in a box, but perhaps you'll let me make amends for that. And for last night."

"Oh Robert," Cora sighed as his lips touched the side of her neck.

"I love you Cora," Robert said into the velvet of her skin. "And yet I keep doing the wrong thing and I fear the day when you no longer forgive me."

"Robert." Cora threaded her fingers through his hair as he continued to kiss her, moving to the underside of her chin. "I love you too. Nothing will change that."

Robert lifted his head, looking at Cora's closed eyes, the upturn of her lips, the arch of her neck as she enjoyed what he was doing to her. He was overcome with what he felt. He bowed down, his lips searching for hers and when they met and she opened her mouth to him he was left breathless.


	7. Chapter 7

Cora nodded and smiled at Reverend Travis as she passed through the doors of the church, Edith's gloved hand within her own. Lifting her skirts, she carefully stepped along the uneven ground of the churchyard, Robert close behind with Mary. The late March air, usually frost-filled and snow-tinged was uncharacteristically mild and Cora took a deep breath, enjoying the way it filled her lungs gently.

Standing by the horses, Cora watched Robert hoist Mary and then Edith up into the carriage. He offered Violet his hand as she stepped into the compartment and then, when it was just the two of them remaining he wagged his eyebrows teasingly.

"It's so lovely today, Lady Grantham. Would you do me the honor of a stroll home?" Robert asked, offering his arm.

"Of course, Lord Grantham." Cora replied, the feel of his arm under her hand reassuring.

They walked in a companionable silence and Cora marveled at the beauty of the day. The winter sun was high in the sky, hazy clouds softening it's bright light. The trees, bare of their leaves, stood nobly along their path, reaching their branches upward. Plumes of smoke drifted from chimneys, perfuming the air as they continued on their walk. It seemed like ages had passed since they had stepped out together, just the two of them ambling on the grounds, talking and planning.

The past months had seen some of the clouds dissipate, some of the grief and hurt leaving them. In their place was almost an earnest tenderness as Cora and Robert tried to reassure themselves and each other that everything was beginning to be all right once more.

They crested the hill, Downton's pillars emerging from the valley, when Robert spoke. "I've been thinking of asking Jarvis to start working on the Dower House. I was looking it over yesterday afternoon. There isn't much that needs to be done. It could be ready for Mama in a few weeks."

Cora stopped her progress and peered up at Robert. "Darling, if it's too soon…"

"No," Robert said emphatically, smiling down at her. "It's time. Lord knows she's had more of it than she allowed my grandmother."

Cora snorted and they continued to walk. "Well, if you are sure."

"I am," Robert said, placing his hand over hers. "She needs to take her place as the dowager. And you need to take yours as the countess, or else the servants and the village will never see you as such."

"It's a daunting prospect," Cora conceded, shaking her head.

"You've done exceedingly well so far." Robert said. "You don't see yourself clearly. You never have."

Cora looked up at him quizzically and it was Robert's turn to stop. He took Cora's hands in his own and turned her so that she stood before him. Bringing their joined hands up, Robert rested his chin on them so that he could see her eyes clearer.

"You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. Stronger. Kinder. More intelligent." Robert kissed her knuckles in between each word. "Not to mention unbearably beautiful."

"Unbearably?" Cora asked coyly.

"Yes," Robert pouted. "Unbearable to look at you right now and have to wait until we've gone up to our room to do the things I'd like to do."

"And, pray, what would you like to do?" Cora asked, stepping closer.

Robert closed his eyes and inhaled, brushing his lips over her forehead. "All sorts of things."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Cora asked before dropping his hands and dashing toward the house.

Robert let out a surprised chuckle before he ran toward her.

* * *

Cora smiled wanly and shook her head at the tea Carson offered her, turning her attention once more to the fireplace. She curled her folded hands towards her middle, hiding the nervous picking of her cuticle. Robert had decided that this would be the afternoon they spoke to Violet about the Dower House and the prospect had Cora's stomach rolling all morning. She'd only picked at her food during luncheon, the nauseated feeling she'd woken with lingering.

Robert positioned himself by her seat and looked down at her briefly, a reassuring smile gracing his lips before he took a sip of tea. Placing the small cup on its saucer, Robert placed a hand on her shoulder before clearing his throat and stepping away. At the noise, Violet wrinkled her forehead, suspicious.

"Mama, I went to the Dower House a number of days ago." Robert blurted out loudly.

"Oh?" Violet drew out the syllable while looking from Robert to Cora and Cora had to force herself not to glance away.

"It needs some work, but Jarvis is ready for the task and I thought you might like to speak with him about decoration and-".

"And so that is it then?" Violet asked sharply, cutting Robert off.

Cora sighed, her eyes skirting down at the amber liquid of her tea. Confrontations with Violet were her least favorite activity even when she felt in fit form. As she was now, however, managing what was proving to be a very trying conversation seemed a Herculean feat. The nausea had abated somewhat, to be replaced with a tight bloating across her middle. Her breasts throbbed against the confines of her corset, the engorged flesh making her clothes feel too tight. As Robert and Violet sparred in the background Cora sighed again, thinking this was absolutely the worst time for her monthly to arrive. Lazily, her mind continued to wander until she bit her lip in concentration.

Recalling the date, Cora thought back. And back. Reflexively, her hand went to her belly.

"Would you mind sharing with us what exactly about this conversation has you grinning like that?" Violet spat, her eyes bulging forward in anger.

Cora snapped back to the discussion happening around her and let her grin fall. Robert looked at her expectantly.

"Cora?" He whispered.

"I...um...I actually am feeling rather poorly." Cora stuttered.

Violet huffed with exasperation, tossing her hands in the air and sitting even straighter, her ire palpable.

"Excuse me," Cora begged before she jolted up and hurried from the room.

* * *

Robert stared at the dividing door as Daniels clasped his cufflinks into place. He had felt slightly abandoned after Cora's unconventional retreat from the drawing room and weathering the Violet storm alone had left him in a sour state. Once their argument was done, Robert had gone out for a ride, the speed of his horse and the chilly winter day a therapeutic mixture. By the time he went up to change, he was less put out and more curious of Cora's strange behavior.

A timid knock at the door piqued Robert's curiosity further. The owner of the noise did not wait for instruction but eased the door open. Cora's shy smile greeted him first and she looked away quickly, contrition coloring her skin. Robert remained quiet for a few moments before turning to his valet.

"That will be all, Daniels. Thank you." Robert waited while the man nodded, gathered his soiled riding clothes and then closed the door behind him.

Turning to Cora, he was struck by her beauty. It was something he noticed daily, of course. It was in fact, the first thing he'd ever noticed about her, how perfectly beautiful she was. At times it was as though he forgot it, living with her day to day and then she would appear in a door or look over her glass and Robert would feel the impact right in his chest. In more romantic moments, he would kid that she stole his breath away, but it was true, the feeling was quite like the breath being knocked from his lungs. He could never be mad at her for long, not when she batted her blue eyes away from him and pouted her full lips and clasped her hands behind her back, as she was doing now.

"I see you are feeling better," Robert said, causing Cora's eyes to bounce up from the floor and onto his face. Robert sucked in a breath, all kidding aside at the tears he found there.

"What is it?" He asked, going to her and taking her hands.

Cora only shook her head and closed her eyes, releasing a tear. Robert's stomach flipped, thinking perhaps she really was ill, when she finally opened her eyes and a wide smile stretched across her face, the apples of her cheeks full and pink.

"Cora?" Robert questioned.

"I'm pregnant," Cora said, so quietly that Robert leaned in, almost asking her to repeat the words.

When she placed his hand firmly on the flat plain of her stomach, he knew he'd heard correctly. A burst of laughter left his lips and Cora began to giggle through her tears. Feeling carried on a wave of unexpected happiness, Robert wrapped his arms around Cora and picked her up, twirling her around. Just as suddenly, he remembered her condition and put her down instantly.

"Oh God, I didn't hurt you?!" Robert worried, smoothing down her dress sleeves.

"No!" Cora assured.

"Did you see the doctor?" Robert asked.

"Yes. He came this afternoon." Cora replied, still smiling.

"And?" Robert asked, holding her hand carefully and leading her slowly across the room, as though she would break. "Is everything alright? You? The baby?"

"Yes," Cora said indulgently. "It's early days yet, Robert."

"I know, I know," Robert replied, stopping in the center of his dressing room. "But I just want to make sure…".

Cora shook her head. "Let's not try to dwell on our fears. Let's only be grateful."

"I am," Robert said, all traces of mirth leaving his face. "Everyday, though I barely show it adequately."

Cora grinned and caressed Robert's cheek. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You seemed to show your gratitude quite sufficiently lately. Hence my current condition."

Cora raised an eyebrow and kissed his lips. Robert pulled her closer, deepening their touch, tasting her tongue with his. Cora sighed into his mouth and a rising tickle of desire ran down his spine.

"How did Mama take it all?" Cora asked when they separated for air and Robert groaned.

"Can we please not talk about Mama?" Robert whined, leaning down and sucking at the tender flesh of Cora's neck.

Cora hummed in appreciation of his attention. "We should be going down."

"It's only us tonight. Mama is having a tray in her room." Robert mumbled, nipping at her earlobe.

"Oh dear," Cora sighed, closing her eyes and rocking forward.

Robert threaded his hand through her hair, careful not to tug at the intricately woven strands. Every fingertip he laid upon her was maddeningly careful and slow. His touch was featherlight against the bodice of her dress, it skirted her sides, it trembled against her back until every nerve in her craved to be filled. His gentleness stoked her need hotter. Cora began urgently undressing him, raking her nails against his bare chest once she'd gotten his clothes off.

She let him lead her to his small bed, straddling his lap once he sat down. She rolled her hips against the hardness of his shaft and the contact had her panting as Robert cupped her swollen breast. Cora leaned back, rocking rhythmically, Robert peppering the underside of her chin with greedy kisses. Finally losing all ability to remain cautious, Robert tugged at her clothing, moaning as finally his flesh touched hers.

Cora tossed her head and gripped his large shoulders as he slid into her, the heat mounting, her heart skipping rapidly. She clawed at his muscles as Robert reached down, urging her toward climax and her breathing grew frantic as each thrust brought her closer and closer until he was crying out and she was gasping and she felt her insides quiver with release.

Robert kissed her hard, eagerly as he rolled to her side, his hands finding their way into her hair once again. He gave her one last kiss on her nose and then laid down, putting his head on her chest and placing his palm on her naked belly. He rubbed the spot where their child lived reverently and Cora blinked back tears, praying that this time everything would turn out differently.

 **AN: So I chose to end the story here. This is obviously Sybil Crawley's introduction to the world. I end it here because I have totally been sold by ohtobealady's version of Sybil's birth. You can read that in drabble form on her Tumblr account. If you haven't read the trilogy she wrote, go read it. Because she is such a phenomenal writer, I have totally embraced her version as my own head canon as well and because her description of Sybil's birth is her own original idea, I do not want to chance recreating it here. Just go read it, and you'll have what I envision as the epilogue to this story.**


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